


Discovered in the Alley

by multiplechoice_origin (SDTS)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDTS/pseuds/multiplechoice_origin
Summary: After finding and patching up the wounded Joker in the alleyway outside your apartment, you know that he is going to come by. The question is - is he coming by to thank you or to harm you?





	

            A sound behind you makes you jump. You look over your shoulder to try to find the source of the noise. As if sensing your anxiety, a rat scurries out of a pile of garbage and darts into a hole in the side of the nearest building. A boom of thunder rings out around you. Above you, the sky is dark. The moon is covered by storm clouds.

            You let out a slow exhale of breath. You need to get a grip. You have been jumping at the slightest thing since last night. Now, on your way home from work, all you want to do is get to your bedroom, lock the door, and curl up watching TV until you get too exhausted to keep your eyes open any longer.

            The anxiety is your own fault. How could it not be? You messed up big time last night. You should have kept walking when you had seen him unconscious in the alley way. You should have called the police right away. The last thing you should have done was carted him up to your apartment and tended to his wounds.

            The memory is hot across your brain as you pass by the alleyway where just twenty-four hours ago, you had seen him there slumped over. Why didn’t you keep walking? Because what were the odds of finding him – _him –_ hurt in your alleyway?

            You had friends who ran in bad circles. You were used to patching them up after their various injuries. When you had stood in front of him, clutching your cellphone, your finger hovering over the send button on the 911 call you were going to place, you took the image in.

            Gunshot wound in the shoulder. You could see the blood staining his purple jacket. Is that why he had collapsed here? It seemed like a simple injury compared to all the stories you had read about him and what he had gone through.

            Before you can question what the fuck you are doing, you shove your phone back in your pocket and lean over. You can see the steady rising and lowering of his chest. His make-up is smudged and faded in spots from whatever he had been going through tonight. It is definitely him. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to turn around and leave the Joker there.

            But you end up practically carrying him up to your apartment. He wakes when you start to prop him up. Out of it, he slumps along with you and promptly collapses on the couch.

            He had hit his head. Between that and the gunshot, it explained why he was so out of it. You patch him up while he is unconscious.

            In the morning, the Joker is gone. The only way you knew it wasn’t a dream is because he has left a playing card on the couch.  

            A horn honking brings you crashing out of the memory. You watch as a man honks his horn again at a car who is stopped in front of a red light. The car jolts forward, probably putting their phone away, and turns the corner.

            Skittish as ever, you hurry into your building. You still don’t understand why you had taken him in and patched him up. You are probably on his radar now. He is probably going to break into your place and kill you. Wonderful. You are truly fantastic at making wise life choices.

            You unlock your apartment and step inside. There is a clap of thunder. The storm that has been hovering over the city all day finally breaks. You can hear the rain striking against the windows. At least you dodged the storm.

            You toss your bag onto the couch. The card is where you left it. It sounds stupid but you were nervous to touch it. You look down at it now and can recall the way he had laid on the couch. Even with his makeup, it had been hard to imagine that this was the man who spreads chaos all around the city.

            Shaking your head, you head to your bedroom to shower. Maybe a shower will clear your mind.

            Yet as soon as you step into your bedroom, you see _him_. He is by your window, looking out at your ‘fantastic’ view of the alley. The rain falls in front of the street light, illuminating is profile.

            The air has been sucked out of your lungs. You feel as if you are on a rollercoaster and it is now dropping down at full speed. At the same time, some sort of secret relief sweeps over you at seeing him in your room. He’s here. Whatever he has planned will be over soon enough.

            “Feeling better?” You ask and are pleased with how your voice doesn’t waver at all as if it is completely normal to be seeing him in your bedroom.

            His back is to you when he replies, “Yes, thanks to you.”

            You realize you haven’t ever actually heard him speak before. His voice is so soft that you take a step forward to try to hear him better. Your heart is racing in your chest and your brain warns you not to get too close.

            “I came by to repay you.”

            You brace yourself but you don’t know for what. Surely, he isn’t going to turn around and shoot you. But you don’t know with him. All you’ve heard is how completely and totally off his rocker he is.

            “How are you going to do that?” You ask him but this time your voice _does_ waver and you can tell he hears it.

            You haven’t even turned on any lights in your room. The only source of light are the street lamps casting pools on the floor and the wall. When he turns around, his face is still covered in shadow.

            His hands are empty although that still doesn’t put you at ease.

            Slowly, the Joker walks over to you. You feel rooted to the spot as he comes to a stop in front of you. Up this close, you should be able to see his eyes. But because of the black eye makeup, all you see is a flash of white as his eyes roam up your body. You feel exposed and he hasn’t even done anything to you.

            “What do you want?” He asks you and his tongue slips out of his mouth, over his lips, before darting back inside.

            The motion is strange and enough to serve as a constant reminder of just who is really in your room right now. Sure, he is technically a human being. But is there anything truly human about him?

            “Nothing.” You finally go.

            He smacks his lips again as if he is lost in thought. There is something entrancing about how he does that. There is a flash of lightning from the window and for a couple of seconds, his face is illuminated. You can see the scars along his mouth with the lipstick messily painted on. Then his face is back in the shadows.

            “Least I can do is guard you tonight from the bad men.” His voice is soft and lilting, followed by another dart of his tongue across his lips.

            “The bad men.” You dead pan but he doesn’t elaborate, “It’s late. I’m just going to go to bed.”

            When the Joker doesn’t reply, you take a step away from him and turn around, hurrying into the bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you exhale and try to collect your thoughts. When you finish showering and changing, your bedroom is empty. You can hear him pacing in the living room.

            The idea of calling 911 flickers across your head but you don’t. Why can’t you? Even though you hate to admit it, the fact that he is _here_ , awake, where you live, is morbidly interesting to you.

            You slip into bed and yank the covers over you. The rain is still pouring steadily down. Between the storm and the Joker pacing around your apartment, you don’t think you will ever be able to fall asleep.

            Yet somehow you do. You must because when you open your eyes, the storm has stopped. The apartment is as silent as a tomb. Did he leave? What time is it? With a soft groan, you sit up and look at your bed side clock. It is past three in the morning. You have somehow been asleep for hours.

            Then you freeze. You see him. He is sitting in your chair by your vanity, just watching you sleep. Is that what woke you up? How long has he been watching you?

            Without saying anything, the Joker stands up and shrugs out of his jacket. It hits the floor as he comes over to you in the bed. Your fingers grip the sheet but you don’t say anything as he gets into bed next to you.

            He doesn’t get under the sheets, however, and instead places his hand on your chest, pushing you down back against the pillows. He has taken off his gloves, you realize, recalling the purple gloves you had seen him wearing earlier.

            His hand moves away from your chest down to your bare arm. He trails one finger down your skin causing goose bumps to raise along your skin. Should you stop him? You should stop him before this goes too far. You mean, it is going too far, right? You aren’t sure if your heart is pounding from fear or excitement.

            His hand is underneath the sheets now. His fingers brush against the skin of your stomach from where your t-shirt has risen while you were sleeping. Then he is at the hem of your pajama shorts, running his finger along the fabric there.

            You don’t say anything. Every nerve of yours feels as if it is twitching underneath his touch. With his back to the window, once again, the Joker is nothing but shadows and curves. With his black eye makeup, you can’t make out his eyes at all. You think he is looking downwards at the sheet instead of up at your face. His hair has fallen forward, tangled and messy, as his fingers go below your bottoms and down towards your underwear.

            Then his finger is moving down along the thin fabric separating his fingers from your bare skin. He drags his finger down the front of your underwear, along your pussy lips and your head goes very light. This feels more surreal than ever. Surely, you must be dreaming.

            He hesitates for a brief second as if he is expecting you to pull away. But you don’t. You can’t. You realize, shockingly, that you want this. It is incredibly wrong and the very last thing you should be desiring is for this to go further. But you are.

            His fingers are pushing the front of your underwear to the side. The only thing you can hear is the blood rushing by your ears as the Joker touches your pussy. His finger runs down your slit. Your face flushes with how wet you are. There has to be something wrong with you for being so wet.

            His index finger softly brushes against your clit. The touch is so faint that you shouldn’t react as strongly as you do. But your mouth opens slightly and you let out a small gasping noise.

            The Joker is silent. You can hear his steady breathing as his finger rubs against your clit once, twice, before running down the length of your pussy to your hole. Then he slips a finger inside of you.

            When was the last time you had been with a guy? It had been a while. Between work and being busy with everything else going on, it had easily been six months or more since a guy has touched you like this. And now…for it to be _him_...

            As if even the man upstairs is disapproving of your current life choices, the storm begins to kick up again. A sudden flash of lighting as the Joker begins to pump his finger in and out of your wet pussy. Your breath catches as he slips another finger inside.

            You know he is watching you now and the thought makes you close your eyes tightly. The rain is pounding against the roof. He says nothing. His movements are slow and precise as if he wants you to know he is controlling the speed and not you. Your fingers grip the sheet tightly as his thumb brushes over your clit.

            You marvel at how his breathing hasn’t changed at all. It is as if he is merely reading the newspaper or studying the weather with how little he has changed. Perhaps this isn’t sexual at all to him. Maybe he is bored and just wants to do this. Perhaps he came by because he needed something to occupy himself that didn’t involve causing chaos. Maybe he wanted chaos only in your head tonight.

            Then his fingers leave you. You let out a stifled protest, ashamed of how much you wanted him to keep going. The Joker slips his fingers out of your underwear. You open your eyes and watch as he flicks his tongue over his fingers, tasting you.

            Is he aroused? For some reason, you want him to be. You want him to be hard from what he is doing to you. You want this man, because ultimately he is a man no matter what people say about him, to want you.

            He pulls the covers down, leaving you feeling exposed. There is a clap of thunder so loud that the apartment feels as if it is vibrating. You watch the Joker nervously, holding your breath.

            Then he is sliding down your body, running his fingers along your stomach, down to your thighs, as he tugs your bottoms off followed by your underwear. Your eyes are shut again as you feel him spread your pussy lips open with his fingers. Still, he is silent. His fingers press against your lips. You can feel his breath hitting your skin.

            Then his tongue is sliding down the length of your pussy. The touch is sudden and even though you are trying to hold back, you arch your back slightly in surprise and a moan escapes from your mouth. He doesn’t stop. His tongue slips into your hole and he moves it in and out slowly, as if he is fucking you with it.

            As he does this, you look down at him. The sight of _him_ in between your thighs is so very wrong that it seems to make it hotter. You can feel yourself grow wetter at the sight of his messy hair and the sensation of his tongue in your wet hole.

            Then the Joker’s tongue is running back up to your clit. His tongue darts over it a few times, causing you to cease caring about holding back. Your head rolls back as you moan. One of your hands grips the bed as his tongue flickers across your clit.

            Your other hand goes to his hair. Your fingers wrap around his hair as your hips buck. With your pussy against his face, for a spilt second you are concerned you have gone too far.

            But he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that you are practically tugging on his hair. His tongue is moving from your clit to your hole. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard that you will probably have marks there tomorrow.

            As the Joker rolls his tongue back up to your clit, you let out a ragged gasp. Where in the world did he learn to do this? You didn’t think someone like _him_ could make you feel like this…especially when most men couldn’t eat pussy if their life depended on it.

            You are writhing underneath him now but his grip on your thighs doesn’t loosen. His mouth wraps around your clit as he gently sucks on it. His tongue is pressed against it. Your mind is wiped of all concerns. As your body quivers, the only thing you can focus on is how close you are to cumming.

            A shudder rolls through you and you go, “I’m - I’m so close…” Your voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to you – it sounds as if it belongs to someone else, someone who lets the Joker do these things to them in the dead of night.

            And then – finally – finally – there is some response out of him. As soon as the words leave your lips, you hear a small noise from the back of his throat. It is the first sign of his pleasure the entire night. One of his fingers enters your soaking wet pussy and he begins to pump it inside of you as he sucks your clit. You can feel your pussy walls grip his finger with each thrust. He makes that same noise again – a soft moan that is muffled by how his face is buried in your pussy – and that sign of his arousal is enough to send you over the edge.

            You arch your back. You hold his head in place as you cum, grinding your pussy against his face. He doesn’t stop fucking you with his finger. His tongue is flicking over your clit so fast that you don’t know how he can do something like that.

            Your orgasm is so intense that you swear it has to be going on for a minute or more. Still, the entire time you are cumming, he doesn’t leave the place in between your thighs. He seems to relish the fact you are grinding your pussy against his face. In between your own loud moans, you can hear his muffled ones and they just seem to make your orgasm stronger.

            When you come down from your climax, you collapse against the bed. You try to catch your breath but it seems impossible. In between your thighs, the Joker is lazily licking at your pussy, like a content cat. He does this for a couple of minutes, as if he is cleaning you up, before sliding off the bed.

            Your eyelids are so heavy that it is a struggle to keep them open. The last thing you see before sleep grabs you is the Joker bending over to pick up his jacket.

            In the morning, the storm has passed. The sun is shining in your room, illuminating the space where the Joker had been the night before. There is no sign of him. He left.

            Next to you, on the pillow, is another playing card.

 


End file.
